Leading Up To This
by Queen of the Castle
Summary: Suddenly they were breathing each other's air, and then in the next moment Sirius was becoming responsible for yet another of Harry's big firsts. Harry/Sirius


Warning: Contains mild sexual content between a boy in his mid-teens (age not explicitly stated) and an older man.

Author's Notes: AU in which James and Lily never died. Written in response to the prompt 'Harry/Sirius – getting drunk'.

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><p>Though he had no clear memory of it himself, Harry had certainly heard the stories and seen the pictures often enough to be aware how Sirius had bought him his first broomstick at the tender age of one, allowing him to start flying before he'd even completely mastered the art of walking. Given the way he felt about flying now, Harry also had a pretty good idea just how much adoration he must have felt for Sirius in the moment when he'd first kicked off the ground.<p>

Sirius had gifted him with something that day that had taught him what it felt like to be free. How could Harry not have loved him wholeheartedly?

In retrospect, that was probably the precise day that set a lot of different and important things into motion in Harry's life. It was certainly the start of a long line of 'firsts' that Sirius managed to be almost single-handedly responsible for; everything from Harry's first motorbike ride (and then motorbike flight, just as soon as they were out of his Mum's line of sight), to his first box of Bertie Bott's, to his first girlie magazine, then to his first gay magazine when it became clear that flicking through the pictures of all that smoothly curving female skin left him pretty much nonplussed.

It was no secret to anyone that Sirius would eventually add buying Harry his first drink to that list, and probably well before he was of age, so when his birthday rolled around and one of the presents from his godfather turned out to be a bottle of Firewhiskey, his Mum – more than used to this kind of thing by then – just sighed and rolled her eyes.

"You're looking after him if you let him get drunk," she warned Sirius. That was her only comment other than to mutter under her breath, though it was still loud enough for Harry to hear, that it was just as well Harry's Dad was at work, because he'd probably have insisted on joining in and made it all go twice as badly as it was already bound to.

Given that she was probably right, Harry was glad his Dad was working too. He didn't want to share this experience with anyone other than Sirius.

He thought he'd feel humiliated when his first sip sent him into a coughing fit and subsequently sent Sirius into a laughing fit, but Harry _liked_ Sirius' laugh, even if it was directed at him, so he just shrugged and forced himself to take another sip, wincing at the burn and feeling his face go flush with the effort of not coughing again.

Sirius apparently enjoyed the foul stuff a lot more than Harry did, for he knocked back about five shots for every one of Harry's. Thanks to that, Harry eventually got revenge for Sirius laughing at him earlier. Sirius gestured a little too emphatically in the middle of some story Harry thought he might have already been told (but which was transformed into something much more hilarious by virtue of Sirius being drunk while relaying it) and he ended up overbalancing and slipping off his seat onto the floor, landing on his arse with a grunt. Harry laughed so hard he nearly couldn't breathe (which probably meant he was drunk as well, just clearly not as much as Sirius). When he helped Sirius pick himself up off the ground they ended up leaning on each other, Sirius swaying under the effects of the alcohol and Harry wheezing for air.

He had no idea who moved or when, given that the two of them were already standing pressed so close together. It didn't matter either way. All that mattered was that suddenly they were breathing each other's air, and then in the next moment Sirius was becoming responsible for yet another of Harry's big firsts.

Everyone had apparently _known_ without a doubt that Sirius would be the person to give Harry his first drink, but Harry just bet that not one of them could honestly claim that they'd suspected Sirius would also give Harry his first real kiss. Harry had known, though. He'd known for ages that this was what he wanted (more or less since he'd seen the men in that that second magazine Sirius had given him a few years back and thought, yes, _that's_ more like it, but if only that guy was taller and had long dark hair...). He'd also known that he'd find some way to bring it about. He just hadn't realised the time would come so soon, or that he wouldn't even have to put in any effort to make it happen. Not that he was complaining about any of that, obviously.

The touch of Sirius' lips against his burned, though that was probably just the taste of the lingering traces of Firewhiskey. Harry didn't really know what to do beyond that initial press of skin against skin, except that what he'd overheard in the dorms suggested he should probably be doing something useful with his tongue about now. Luckily, even when he was plastered Sirius was more than experienced enough at this to compensate. His tongue coaxed Harry's mouth open and then danced across Harry's teeth and flicked over his palate in a way that made Harry almost inexplicably hard in just seconds. He ground his now aching cock against Sirius' leg for a moment, enjoying the friction even through his jeans, and not much caring how fast things seemed to be progressing.

Never let it be said that Harry Potter wasn't willing jump into the unknown headfirst.

If the magazines hadn't been enough to convince him, this would have nailed the whole 'liking guys' thing. Only this was _so_ much better than watching some moving pictures of a bunch of strangers doing things to each other that Harry had never before really considered wanting himself. It was even a good amount better than how it felt to touch himself while looking at those pictures.

This was _Sirius_ touching _him_. It was real and, occasional tipsy fumbling moments aside, it was pretty damn close to perfect. The only thing Harry imagined could be better was if Sirius would touch him lower instead, squeezing his arse instead of tracing his fingers teasingly against Harry's lower back, or maybe bringing one hand around between their bodies to squeeze a part of Harry that craved attention even more keenly, or even just shifting lower so that Harry could fully enjoy the answering arousal that he could already feel jutting against his stomach as they scrabbled and pushed against each other.

Harry wasn't stupid, though. None of that was going to happen _today_. This was already far more than he'd have expected in his wildest wet dreams. Sirius might be a little drunk, but he wasn't so completely under the table that he was about to bend Harry over on the tiled floor and pop his cherry, just like that, and with Harry's Mum just a room or two away and as likely as not to stroll in and catch them at it at any moment.

Harry knew all of that, but it would have been nice if it had taken Sirius himself a little while longer to figure it out. As much as he was in dire need of a complete lungful of air right about now, Harry had no desire to stop. He was _really_ enjoying the kissing, not to mention the rest of it. He missed it immediately when Sirius pulled away, cool air abruptly replacing the body warmth for which Harry hungered.

The rate at which the realisation of what had just happened burst across Sirius' face like an explosion of near horror would have been stunning if Harry wasn't fully expecting such a reaction. Sirius gaped, flustered, and launched into a rambling monologue about how that had been wrong, they couldn't do that again, but he still had to tell James it had happened in the first place, but _how_ could he tell James something like this, what possible explanation could he give that wouldn't sound like a poor excuse or even a lie, and what did any of it matter since Lily would castrate him no matter how he phrased it? It all somehow segued neatly into him begging Harry _not_ to tell his parents after all.

"Of course I won't tell them," Harry reassured him, sealing the promise with a brief kiss to Sirius' cheek. "I won't say anything to anyone. Never."

That suited Harry just fine; he'd never had any intention of saying a word. He wanted this to be another one of those little secret things that only he and Sirius shared. Harry didn't want to witness how awkward his Dad was bound to get over having to discuss his son's unexpected sexual proclivities, for one thing. More importantly, though, as long as they forgave him – and though Sirius might be currently convincing himself otherwise, Harry figured they undoubtedly would if only Sirius just explained what had happened – Sirius would feel that telling Harry's parents absolved him and would therefore allow himself to almost immediately forget all about it, probably dismissing it as a drunken delusion or something equally frustrating for Harry's part.

Without that outlet, though, Harry knew how the whole thing would weigh heavily on Sirius' mind. He'd wonder what, how, why, why, why until that overly rebellious part of his brain that made him distinctly Sirius would inevitably chime in with, 'well, actually, why _not_?' Sirius would surely ponder over _that_ until it all started to make a warped sort of sense that he should guide Harry in this, as in everything else. Who else could he possibly trust to do it right? Harry had similarly puzzled over the whole thing when he'd first realised he had these feelings right up until he started to wonder why, given everything, he'd ever even vaguely expected his life to be leading towards anything _else_. In some ways Sirius was more important to him than his own parents. It just made sense, really.

Harry didn't want to torture Sirius by making him dwell endlessly on something he viewed as shameful, of course – he _loved_ him, after all – but he didn't expect the internalised anxiety to last long enough for it to come to that anyway. Much like Harry, Sirius had always been more a man of action. He'd decide soon enough that he simply had to _do_ something to sort it out; to act first and worry about the consequences later, especially considering that he'd already acted once and so he wouldn't be making it much worse by merely repeating himself. Really, what more efficient way was there to explore the feelings and consequences of kissing Harry than to do it again while sober enough to actually think it through properly?

With the hope that things might unfold that way, Harry could wait.

He watched Sirius hurriedly retreat – for now, at least – no doubt silently berating himself all the while. But whatever Sirius might be telling himself about this never happening again, Harry had no intention to let that truly be the case.

After all, this wasn't the last of his 'firsts' that Harry intended Sirius to play an integral part in bringing about. Not by a long shot.

~FIN~


End file.
